


the art of love (and war)

by iridescentprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Light Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentprincess/pseuds/iridescentprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight, none of this would've happened if the Robotics club didn't win their competition. Then student council wouldn't have had to cut the art club's funds, and art club would never have had the desire to pull a prank that changed the future in more ways than one. </p><p>Note: Clarke is president of the art club. Bellamy is president of the student council. They're sworn enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the art of love (and war)

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a happy last 24 hours. here's a fic that I've been working on for a week to commemorate it. it made me happy, so I hope it makes you happy too.

To: _clarkegriffin11@gmail.com_

From: _ahsc@gmail.com_

Subject: Funds for Art Club

Date: February 1, 2016 2:02 PM

Dear Ark High Art Club,

We are sorry to inform you that we are unable to provide funds for the art show this semester. Unfortunately, there are too many other expenses to be covered. After the win the Robotics club got from Regionals, we’ve had to cut off other funds to provide for them at Nationals. I hope that you all will understand we are on a tight budget.

Once again, we are very sorry. If you have any questions, please email us back or come to the student council room, which is Room A11.

Sincerely,

Ark High Student Council (AHSC)

**MONDAY**

“This is so stupid!” Harper shouts, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “How much does it cost to build a fucking robot anyway?”

“Apparently, more than a thousand dollars, since that’s the amount of money we need to do our art show this semester,” Clarke says, putting her head in her hands.

It’s after school, the period of time allotted to the art club to have their meeting in the big art studio room. There are wide windows letting out sunshine, easels scattered around the room, pieces of clay and charcoal marks on the tables, and a very messy cabinet full of paints and watercolors in every shade. It’s artist heaven.

Clarke has the letter in her hand, the one emailed to her this afternoon, which she promptly printed out at the school library not two seconds after she read it.

“Bullshit,” Fox says, reading the letter over Clarke’s shoulder. “Clarke, you have to talk to Bellamy about this.” Clarke almost shudders. The last thing she’s going to do is try to _reason_ with Bellamy. Fox continues, “We all know the student council likes to use some of the funds to pay for their annual end-of-the-year trip. They’re saving the money for themselves!”

The club erupts in a flurry of rage and wild gestures.

“They’re a corrupt government! We have to overthrow them!”

“This isn’t fair!”

“RIOT!”

Clarke stands up on one of the tables. Probably unsafe, considering the amount of paint that’s recently been splattered on it. “Guys! We are not revolutionaries!” she yells. “We are artists! And what do artists do?”

“Buy an obscene amount of aesthetic art supplies?”

“Try to act hipster by sipping coffee and sketching in cafes?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Other than that. More obvious.”

Lincoln chimes in from the back of the studio, where he sits in solitude. “Paint?”

Clarke beams at him. “Yes, Lincoln! And, ladies and gentlemen, that is exactly what we’re going to do,” she cryptically asserts, a sly grin crossing her face.

**TUESDAY**

The blonde slams her locker shut abruptly, her biology textbook in one hand with her sketchbook on top of it. She strides into her fifth period, full from the sandwich she just had for lunch, and she’s going over the procedures for today’s lab. They’re going to dissect a frog today, and she wants to be prepared.

She’s also tingling with anticipation. The art club went over all of the fine details in their plan, and they’re set in stone now. The only thing left to do now is wait.

Clarke greets her lab partner, Monty, who greets her in return. He’s in Robotics, but she’s not mad at him. Her real beef is with the student council.

“Hey, I heard about your art show. I feel so bad, I’m so sorry.” He looks down, contrite.

Clarke puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Monty. It’s not your fault the student council’s greedy,” she says, offering him a small smile. “Congrats on Regionals, by the way.”

Monty grins. “Thanks.”

The bell rings. Her biology teacher, Dr. Tsing, stands before the class. “Students, today I want to assign new lab partners,” she declares. The class collectively groans, Clarke included. She really likes having Monty as a partner. “It was nice while it lasted,” Clarke tells Monty forlornly.

Monty nods in agreement, strapping his bag on his shoulder.

“Can everyone please get out of their seats and move to the perimeter of the room?” She places her hands on her hips in a bossy manner, pursing her lips. Clarke doesn’t really like Dr. Tsing. She’s the kind of teacher who kills students with sarcastic kindness.

Everyone goes to take their stuff and walk toward the walls. Dr. Tsing begins to read off of a new seating chart, directing students into their new seats.

She points to a seat near the back. “Clarke, you’ll be sitting there.” Clarke moves to the table, putting her stuff down. Then the doctor points to the seat next to hers. “And Bellamy, you’ll be sitting there. Say hello to your new lab partner.”

Everyone in the room collectively gasps, then goes silent. Everyone knows about Bellamy and Clarke’s feud. Except for Dr. Tsing, apparently. Or maybe she doesn’t care.

Bellamy takes a seat next to Clarke, smirking at her in amusement. Clarke gapes at her new lab partner before glaring in disgust. “Bellamy, Clarke, say hello, because you will be working with each other for the rest of the school year,” Dr. Tsing continues curtly. “And no one wants to work with a stranger, yes?” She raises her eyebrows at the pair before moving around to assign more seats to students.

“I wish he was a stranger,” Clarke mutters, turning to her sketchbook. She begins sketching a frog jumping onto a lily pad, choosing to ignore the person next to her.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding her. Bellamy Blake, the fucking _president of the student council_ , is her lab partner. He’s practically been her nemesis since freshman year, when he stole her notes in geography class to both study off of and prevent her from studying so he could get the higher final grade.

So, technically, _he_ started it.

A few minutes pass before he finally says something. _That’s gotta be some kind of record_ , Clarke thinks. “Wow, you’re a really good artist,” Bellamy compliments, peering down at her drawing.

She looks up to give him a low _are you serious_ look. “Well, thanks. It’d be really nice if I could showcase my art, but the student council had to cut our funding,” she nonchalantly informs him, the implications of who is in the wrong very clear in her tone.

Bellamy begins to whisper as Dr. Tsing gives out instructions for the dissection. “Look, I’m really sorry, but there’s just too many things to be paid for, and the Robotics team actually _won_ something this year一”

“Oh, cut the crap, Bellamy,” Clarke interjects, trying to keep her voice down. “You guys aren’t fooling anyone. The student council likes to take annual trips backpacking through national parks or fucking touring the White House一”

“Hey! The school _wants_ us to go on those trips to bond or whatever. We don’t get to decide where we go anyway!” He runs a hand through his dark curls. Clarke’s momentarily distracted by the movement.

She blushes slightly and collects herself before huffing in indignation. “Like you even care. You smart asses are just glad you have an excuse to go places using th一”

“Clarke and Bellamy!” Dr. Tsing shouts. “Is your conversation more important than learning about the anatomy?”

They shake their heads, looking down in shame but keeping the glares on their faces. The teacher goes back to distributing lab equipment. “This isn’t over,” he forewarns.

“You can bet your snooty fund-using ass it isn’t.” He has _no_ idea how unfinished this is.

**WEDNESDAY**

Clarke checks her watch. Lunch is almost over.

“Where is she?” she asks the group in front of her.

All of them shake their heads in confusion. They’re behind the auditorium, hidden under the shade of a tree. About a third of the club is here. The others are in the cafeteria, trying to keep up appearances. If the whole club was gone, it would just raise suspicion.

“Here,” a girl calls, speaking clearly as she walks through the people to get to the president of the art club. Lincoln stands next to his girlfriend, silent but proud.

“Oh, thank God.” Clarke breathes a sigh of relief. “Octavia, what took you so long?”

The small brunette holds her hands up in defense, the keys in one hand. “It took so long to wait for Bellamy to get distracted enough to grab these! He watches everything like a hawk, it’s so unsettling.”

Clarke scrutinizes Octavia for a moment. “Are you sure you’re okay with doing this? We are basically trying to humiliate your brother and the rest of the student council.”

The sophomore shakes her head. “No. Ever since they cut your funds, Bellamy’s been acting really weird. He knows it’s wrong but he’s not doing anything about it,” she tells her, and Clarke files the information away for later analysis. “If they’re just using up money for vacation, then they deserve this.” Clarke nods in reply. Octavia hands the keys to her, who holds it up like a prize.

“Well, now that we have these, who’s got the spray cans, and who’s bringing the flashlights?”

Clarke checks it off her clipboard as people volunteer to bring each item.

“Okay, this is good, everything is going to plan so far,” Clarke announces. She looks to the tan Latina next to her, the only person not in art club apart from Octavia that is going to help with this. “Raven, can you keep us off camera?”

“Yes, I can,” Raven assures her, “but only for a little while. The system can reboot itself.”

“Well, then, we’ll be quick.”

* * *

Clarke looks at the school clock directly overhead the staircase to the second floor. It’s eleven on the dot. It’s time.

Clarke is being followed by Lincoln, Fox, Harper, and three others from the club. The school isn’t illuminated with much light, but each person holds a flashlight. In the other hand, they all have a different-colored spray can. “Come on, we don’t have much time,” she whispers to the group.

“How long did Raven say until the system rebooted itself?” Lincoln inquires. His spray can is a deep burgundy color, just waiting to be used. Clarke’s spray can is an icy powder blue, matching her eyes. It’s like a little signature. “Fifteen minutes,” Clarke answers.

The group reaches Room A11. Clarke signals with her hand to come closer. “Okay, we’re here. Let’s just get in, do our thing, and get out.”  She takes out the keys and opens the door. She bursts in, the others right behind her.

Ten minutes later, they’re rushing out of the room, covering their mouths to hold in their laughs, a little drunk off the familiar feeling of doing something against the rules.

**THURSDAY**

Clarke is entering the school building, yawning from the lack of sleep she had last night, when she notices that the hallway is loud, louder than usual. She stops in her tracks. Literally everyone in the hallway is crowding around a room. She bets that it’s Room A11.

Raven immediately hones in on her, blocking the blonde from being seen by the rest of the hallway. “Dude, they’re so pissed,” she says, smiling widely. “Bellamy’s been cussing out every single person that comes up to calm him. He’s also been asking for you, very rudely. Probably knows it’s you who did it, but technically he has no proof.”

Right on cue, Bellamy’s voice echoes from the room down the hall. “Where _the hell_ is Clarke? Can somebody please find her?”

“Where do you think she is?” someone else asks. Clarke slightly peeks over Raven’s shoulder to see that Miller asked. He’s on the student council too, as VP. The rest of the council are nowhere to be found.

“Probably working with the devil, why don’t we ask him first,” Bellamy replies, fury written on his face and his fists clenched.

Clarke doesn’t get why he was elected president. Honestly, he’s an asshole.

“It’s because he’s an asshole with good ideas,” Raven murmurs, and Clarke realizes she was actually saying her thoughts out loud.

Clare doesn’t want to admit it, but Raven’s right. When he’s not being an asshole to her, he’s planting trees around the school. Making the dress code less sexist. Helping fundraise for the school dances so that they’re not in the gym. Clarke even knows he tutors because she’s caught him at the library a couple times with some students to tutor world history.

Every so often, they’re civil enough to say hi to each other. He _is_ the brother of one of her closest friends, so they’d had to be nice to each other _sometimes._

The fact that he was absolutely attractive to her only made her hate him more.

A teacher appears, and tries to console Bellamy, but he politely tells the teacher that he can handle it and apologizes for the noise. The teacher nods before going back inside his classroom. Bellamy’s got the respect of all of the teachers, it’s actually unbelievable. They’re all wrapped around his finger.

Clarke braces herself before stepping out in front of the crowd, moving out of the protection of Raven. Raven turns, shocked. “You don’t have to search very far, I’m right here,” she announces, holding her ground.

“Clarke, what are you doing?” Raven hisses. “This isn’t part of the plan!”

Clarke ignores her. She spots Lincoln in the crowd of teenage students, who comes up to her side. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t be stupid,” Lincoln advises her before he urges everyone to _please walk away, there’s nothing to see here._ The students slowly scatter.

She walks up to Bellamy, refusing to look away from his piercing eyes. She moves until she’s toe-to-toe with him. She can see his freckles from here, his dimpled chin, the deep warm brown in his eyes. A tingle goes down her spine for some not-so-unknown reason. “You asked for me?”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow and turns to sweep his arm across the room directly in front of them. “Care to explain this?”

Clarke takes a moment to admire her club’s handiwork.

The chairs surrounding the long narrow table in the center of the room _were_ all black before, but now they’re each a different bright color, courtesy of the spray cans that they had. She made sure that the order of the chairs made a rainbow pattern wrapping around the table. Now, they could have amazingly colorful chairs _and_ show off their gay pride. It’s a win-win.

On the whiteboard, someone graffitied the words _SC STANDS FOR SELFISH CORRUPTION. Huh._ Clarke didn’t catch that last night. Whoever wrote that deserves an award.

As a bonus, Clarke painted a yellow crown on the chair at the head of the table, and underneath it, in the best calligraphy she could do, she wrote, _KING BELLAMY._

She barely manages to contain her laugh. It’s almost too much to imagine the council having a serious meeting in these chairs.

Until Bellamy looks back at her.

He looks inscrutable at first, but then his shoulders droop, and his face turns sullen. His eyebrows furrow together. He looks… vulnerable. Clarke tenses, the humor in her body dissipating.

“‘King Bellamy’?” he asks. “Is that really who you think I am? Some corrupt monarch that doesn’t care about anyone else?”

What is she supposed to do with that? She expected him to yell at her, to be angry with her like he always is. In all the games they play on each other, neither of them ever end up _hurt_ , physically or emotionally. It’s just how their relationship worked.

And what’s even worse is that she feels _guilty._ All of a sudden, Clarke wants to take away everything that she did in the last twelve hours, and she’s never felt like that before. Clarke has always gotten this weird thrill in angering him; all she feels now is regret.

This is all too much to process at once. So Clarke closes herself off. “You tell me,” she finally murmurs, avoiding his eyes. She spares him one last glance before turning on her heel and walking out of the room, leaving him to stand alone in the room with the chaos she created.

**FRIDAY**

Clarke hesitates in front of the entrance before stepping into her biology class. She’s been anxious about this part of the day since she woke up this morning.

She slowly walks to the back of the class and sits at her table. Bellamy’s already there, talking quietly to the boy who sits in front of him. He doesn’t glance at her. He angles his seat away from her, and he’s as far away as the desk allows. Clarke busies herself by sketching; she doesn’t realize exactly _who_ she’s sketching until she’s got two dark eyes and a head of curls staring back at her from her paper. She shuts her sketchbook quickly.

The bell rings not a minute later. She groans inwardly. Clarke doesn’t know how she’s going to survive sitting in this tension for an _hour_.

Shortly after Dr. Tsing begins her lecture, another teacher comes into the classroom and asks to talk to her. She leaves the students with strict orders to discuss mitosis with their lab partners. Clarke takes one look at Bellamy’s nose buried in his textbook and knows that that isn’t gonna happen.

Thirty seconds pass by in complete silence. She fidgets in her seat, fixing her blouse and rubbing the tips of her blonde hair between her fingertips. She might just go insane before Dr. Tsing comes back.

Clarke can’t take the silence any longer. “Look, Bellamy,” she starts. He tilts his head toward her to let her know he’s listening. “I’m sorry. I thought that you would just take this prank like the rest of them, maybe even retaliate somehow. Turns out all I did was offend you.” She pauses to clear her throat nervously. She’s never had to apologize to him before. “I didn’t mean it, just so you know. If my opinion even matters to you at all.”

He glances up at her, his eyes a bit wide from her apology.  He was probably never expecting her to be so straightforward, and Clarke’s heart pangs. The guilt continues to eat away at her.

Bellamy stares far too long at her face before responding. “It’s okay. I get why you and the art club were so angry with us. To be honest, I might’ve done the same thing.” Bellamy offers her a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And of course I care about what you think of me. We may do shit to each other, but. Your opinion matters to me.”

His eyes shine with some significance, some meaning in them that Clarke can’t decipher. It’s like he’s trying to tell her something, but she doesn’t understand. She changes the subject instead of reading into it. “So, do you want us to go back in there and change all the chairs back to black, or…”

“Nah,” he answers. “To be honest, SC actually kinda digs the colors. It’s a nice change.”

Clarke laughs, relieved. All the tension is completely gone. “So, wanna talk about the process of cell reproduction?”

Bellamy smiles. “I would like nothing more.”

When Clarke comes home to her laptop, she checks her email out of habit. Kicking off her boots, she finds, in the middle of junk mail, an email from the student council.

To: _clarkegriffin11@gmail.com_

From: _ahsc@gmail.com_

Subject: New Funds

Date: February 5, 2016 4:18 PM

Dear Ark High Art Club,

We have good news! There are now funds for your art show this semester. We now have more money to give out, so we are giving it to you guys. We are sorry for the temporary inconvenience that this has cost you, and we look forward to the magnificent art show you have every semester.

If you have any questions, please email us back or come to the student council room, which is Room A11.

Have a nice afternoon!

Ark High Student Council (AHSC)

Clarke nearly screams in surprise and joy. They finally have money for the art show! But then she stills. Where did the money come from?

To: _ahsc@gmail.com_

From: _clarkegriffin11@gmail.com_

Subject: RE: New Funds

Date: February 5, 2016 4:40 PM

Dear AHSC,

May I ask how we got more funds? I’m just curious. Nonetheless, thank you very much for this.

Clarke Griffin, President of the Art Club

Clarke waits for an email, but it never comes. It’s Friday night, and she has nothing to do, so she does her homework. By the time she’s done, it’s only nine o’clock, which is bizarre, even for her. She checks her email. Her inbox comes up empty. Nothing.

She’s been going over every possibility in her head ever since she got the email. None of it makes sense. As far as she knows, none of the other clubs have canceled any of their extracurricular activities. Robotics hasn’t dropped out of Nationals. Student council still has their annual trip scheduled for the end of the semester. Nothing’s changed. But Clarke somehow feels that something has.

**MONDAY**

It’s Octavia who first clues her in that something's not right.

It’s lunchtime, and the cafeteria is buzzing with the sounds of people chatting. Clarke sits next to Raven, who is trying to convince her that a third world war is very possible.

“With the technology that people are inventing everyday, and the nuclear sciences developing under the federal government, you can bet that they are just dying to test out their weapons on any country that crosses them,” Raven explains. “And next thing you know, _boom,_ you’ve got a nuclear war on your hands. There’ll be too much radiation to even live on Earth.”

“I call bullshit,” Clarke states, shaking her head. “It sounds like something from a sci-fi movie. Where would we even go?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Raven says.

They go back to eating their lunches, chewing in silence, until Octavia suddenly rushes to them and sits across from them. “Hey, guys!”

Raven and Clarke simultaneously greet her. “What’s up?” Clarke asks.

“Oh, nothing much. Lincoln had to go make up a test in Government, and there’s no way I’m sitting with Bellamy right now,” she vows, rolling her eyes.   

“Glad to know we’re your first choice,” Raven comments, mild. “We feel so important.” Octavia just winks at her, and smacks her lips in a kiss toward Raven. Raven gags in a joking manner.

Clarke winces. “He’s not mad at you for pulling the prank with me, is he?”

“No, no,” the girl assures her, waving her hands up, “He’s actually scarily understanding about that.” Her tone implies that she knows more than she's letting on.

Clarke frowns in confusion. “Then what is it?”

Octavia hesitates, trying to find the right words before deciding on the words, “Nothing. Never mind, it’s not that important.” She plants a smile on her face, which Clarke stares at skeptically. Octavia is definitely hiding something from her. “So, what’s up with you guys? What’d you guys do over the weekend?”

Before Clarke can get in a word, Raven replies, “Oh, I saw that new movie with that really hunky celebrity…”

Clarke drowns out her friends’ conversation. She looks ahead to her left, subtly searching the cafeteria before landing on a head of dark curls. Bellamy. He’s talking animatedly with Miller and Jasper about something that lights his eyes up in a way that Clarke finds mesmerizing. She stills. She’s never seen him in this light before.

Suddenly, the annoying bell ends lunch, and people begin to stand up. Right before Clarke can look away from Bellamy, he turns his head as if out of habit and meets her eyes. Her eyes widen as they sit staring at each other while students mill about around them. Suddenly, it’s just the two of them in the room, and the background is unnoticeable. Bellamy offers her a smirk. Clarke watches as he stands and saunters over to her, his hands in his pockets.

“Walk with me to biology?” he asks, his eyes indecipherable. She can’t figure out Bellamy’s expressions anymore. It’s something so foreign to her, now.

“I would like nothing more,” she answers, echoing his words from biology class last week.

Ever since she apologized to Bellamy last week, she’s felt like her relationship with him as changed somehow, like they’ve crossed some line that defined them as enemies and now they’re in uncharted territory. The thought makes Clarke feel… different.

When they get to class, people are looking at them strangely. Clarke can imagine their thoughts: _them, walking into class together? peacefully?_ or _when are they going to rip each other’s throats out?_ She ignores them all, going to her seat. Bellamy does the same.

After Dr. Tsing finishes her lecture on meiosis, they’re assigned some bookwork. When she finishes the first section of it, Clarke nudges Bellamy. “Hey, why did the art club get funds?”

Bellamy looks confused as he whispers back, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, and I’m happy, but student council never replied to me when I asked them why we got the funds so suddenly. Can you tell me?”

He looks down toward his textbook, writing down answers to a question. Clarke waits, but he never looks back up.

“Are you _ignoring_ me?” she hisses, taken aback.

“No. I’m trying to do my work, unlike some people.”

“I _could_ be doing my work, but you’re not answering my question. So, really, this is your fault,” she loopholes.

Bellamy’s glaring at her now. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s nothing, or you won’t tell me?”

He looks at her, hesitating. He finally sighs. “Both.”

“Why the fuck won’t you tell me?”

She gets no response. She’s being ignored _again._ Clarke tries a different route.

“Okay, an alternative question then,” Clarke propositions. “Why is Octavia so pissed at you that she won’t sit with you? You guys are the closest siblings I’ve ever met.”

At this, Bellamy widens his eyes at her. “She’s _that_ pissed? Oh fuck.” He rubs his forehead. “Why does she get so mad about things like this?” he asks, more to himself than to Clarke.

“Things like what?”

“Clarke, it’s nothing. Don’t push it.” He goes back to doing his work, but he’s fidgety, less focused than before.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I’m going to find out about everything eventually.”

Bellamy sends her a disbelieving look. “I highly doubt that.”

Just when Clarke is about to press him some more, the bell rings shrilly. Bellamy laughs. “Saved by the bell.”

Clarke grins slyly. “No, you’re not,” she corrects. “I don’t have a sixth period. I’m following you to your student council meeting until you ‘fess up.”

“You wouldn’t,” he breathes, his eyes widening again.

She crosses her arms. “Watch me.”

Bellamy grumbles before getting up and grabbing his stuff. When he leaves the class, Clarke follows. As he walks down the hall, Clarke follows. She knows that he is going to attempt to get away from her by sharply veering to the left and merging into the crowd, so she takes his hand tightly and holds on. He swivels his head, looking at their entwined hands before raising an eyebrow at her in question.

“What? I don’t wanna lose you in this crowd, like you want me to,” she explains defensively. Bellamy narrows his eyes at her. She thinks he’s going to pull away from her hand, but he doesn’t, choosing instead to turn back around and drag her to A11.

When they reach the room, they’re greeted by the council members, all already sitting in their chairs一which are still colorful thanks to the art club一and they immediately turn their heads toward the intruder. “Clarke, what are you doing here?” Miller asks. “Holding Bellamy’s hand, might I add.”

Clarke lets go of Bellamy’s hand, her fingers already going cold. She doesn’t see Bellamy’s look of disappointment, but the student council does. “I want to know why the art club got funds all of a sudden,” she announces. “Not that I’m ungrateful or anything, it’s just Bellamy, and you guys too, are keeping it from me, so it’s made me even more curious. Is it really that top secret?”

Every council member looks to Bellamy. Clarke turns her head to see why they’re all looking at him, and she finds him looking at the ground. “Bellamy, what is it?”

“Bellamy, you have to tell her,” one council member says. Then she looks to the blonde. “Clarke, he’s the one that told us not to tell you. We were going to reply to your email, but一”

“Okay, she gets it,” Bellamy interrupts hastily. He grabs Clarke’s hand. “Can I speak to you privately?” he asks, already dragging her out of there.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really, no.”

He leads her to a deserted hallway around the corner. Before Bellamy utters a single word, Clarke turns to him to yell. “ _You_ ordered them specifically not to tell me? What the hell are you hiding from me, Bellamy?” She pokes his chest with her index finger. Bellamy grabs her finger into his fist and pulls it away.

“Look, it’s nothing,” he says. “Why can’t you just be happy about the fact that your club has funds now? Why do you have to make this such a big deal?”

“I wouldn’t be making this such a big deal if you didn’t hide it from me in the first place!”

“Well, you’re just going to have to deal with it, because you’re not going to be hearing it from me.”

They stand there for a minute just staring each other down, their arms both crossed. The situation would almost look ridiculous if Clarke wasn’t so fucking pissed.

She looks away to roll her eyes. “God, Bellamy, you’re such a child,” she hisses. “Octavia knows, doesn’t she? It’s got to do with why she’s so pissed at you.” Clarke walks forward to pass Bellamy. “I bet Octavia will tell me一”

Bellamy grabs her arm and yanks her backwards before she can get very far. “Oh no you don’t,” he growls, keeping her in his grasp. “Don’t you dare ask her.”

“Or what? What are you going to do, keep me away from your sister forever? Highly doubtful, considering you’re alwa一”

Her words are cut off then, because she’s got the lips of her nemesis claiming hers roughly. Clarke is in too much shock to do anything but stand there.

Bellamy locks his arms around her waist, pulling her closer until the space between them is nonexistent. He pushes her lips, trying to get a response out of her. When he gets nothing, he pulls away from a dazed Clarke. “Come on, Clarke. Tell me this is one-sided. If you don’t want this, just tell m一”

Clarke responds this time.

The kiss is tender yet bruising, the kind of kiss that comes after a lover's quarrel. Bellamy’s arms lock around her waist again, keeping her steady against his chest. Clarke’s hands roam up his arms until they clasp around his neck. There’s an infinitesimal moment where they both pull apart at the same time to breathe in sync, before plunging into each other’s lips again.

Of course their kiss would be a fight for control, both of them vying for dominance; they were too competitive not to have their rivalry seep into the way they kiss. Clarke’s hands run through Bellamy’s curls. He hums in appreciation, and shows it by pulling her up and off of her feet.

After what feels like hours of kisses, Clarke pulls away. Bellamy leans his head forward to chase her lips, his eyes still closed, but Clarke is unrelenting as she dodges him. “Did _you_ do something to get the funds for me?”

Bellamy groans, placing his head on her shoulder. “Can we have this conversation after we finish making out?”

“No,” she says simply with an air of finality in her tone. “Quit whining and answer the damn question.”

“I’d rather kiss you some more.”

She turns her head to get a good look at his pouting face still resting on her shoulder. “No kissing until you start talking.”

He sighs against her neck, tickling the skin there. He lifts his head, his arms loosening a bit around her waist as he begins to speak. “After your very artistic prank last week, I realized that you were right一what the council was doing is selfish, or corrupt, like you said. And, as president, I realized I had the power to do something. So I talked to the student council last Friday, got them to convince the school that we don’t need some fancy trip, that we can go do volunteer work instead or something, to bond.”

“And the student council agreed to drop their trip, just like that?”

Bellamy clears his throat. Clarke knows that’s his nervous tic. “Um, that was the hard part. I got them to agree on the one condition that I, uh, allowed the big senior prank and that I would personally help.”

Clarke widens her eyes. “But if the school found out you were responsible for the senior prank, you would get kicked out of student council in a一” Clarke stops. “Wait, _student council_ is condoning the pranks? Since when are you all so rebellious?”

“We can do whatever the hell we want,” Bellamy answers. “Bet you didn’t know that King Bellamy can also be the rebel king when necessary.”

“I’m slowly gathering that,” Clarke mumbles. She’s going to have to refine her view of Bellamy. “So, you brought out rebellious Bellamy for me?” She smirks.

“Princess, it was already there,” he confesses, already dipping his head for another kiss.

And as he kisses her softly, slowly, in a way that makes her want to melt into the floor, the pieces fit together. The indecipherable expressions that he gave her一they were expressions of admiration, of hope. Something that she couldn’t comprehend, because she wouldn’t have _ever_ thought that Bellamy Blake of all people liked her. It was uncanny.

He breathes against her lips. “Another reason why the student council was so amenable was because they know I have feelings for you.”

“How?”

He shrugs. “Guess everyone figured it out. Even Octavia figured it out. It’s why she was so pissed at me, because I was keeping everything from you and she couldn’t say anything.”

“But I mean, _how?_ You were never obvious to me.” All of the clues had been right in front of her, but she never picked up on them. Maybe she was too oblivious.

“You know, the whole _boy meets girl he likes and wants to get her attention so he acts like a dick to her_ kind of situation,” he explains. “I was dumb.”

“You were, and still are,” she teases, kissing his nose. “You know what would make you not dumb, though? If you went to the art show next month.”

Bellamy doesn’t hesitate when he responds. “Deal.”

And if Clarke uses Bellamy as the nude model for her next sketch, it’s nobody’s business. It’s not like she would showcase it. She’d like to keep the asshole all to herself.


End file.
